Flagstaff
by theheathen42
Summary: Once upon a time, Sam ran away from home. It's one of Sam's best memories and one of Dean's worst. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Phoenix, Arizona – summer, 1994**

Dean rolled over in the unkempt double bed and groaned. The last thing he wanted to do after going to bed after 2am was to wake up 5 hours later, but he had to check on the salt at the door and windows and then call his Dad and report in.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," he called hoarsely as he stumbled, zombie-like, towards the shower. He patted the bed where his little brother's feet usually poked out of the blanket and his hand met nothing but mattress. "Sammy?" he called again, yawning and scratching at his face. He was pleased to notice that he might have to shave again today, his peach fuzz turning ever-more completely into stubble. Wandering over to the bathroom, he knocked on the mostly-closed door. "Hey, you in there short stuff?"

The door swung open with his knock. There was no one inside.

….

Sam grinned widely. The adrenaline was pumping through his system, keeping him awake. He'd actually _done_ it. Run away. He was finally _free_. No more monsters. No more shooting lessons and weird old books in the library. No more kids calling him a freak of nature.

No more Dad.

He pushed down on the accelerator of the '84 Civic he'd stolen from the motel parking lot and sped north down the I-17. Each passing mile made his smile bigger.

….

"Shit, shit, _shit_, shit, **shit**," Dean chanted under his breath as he tore around the motel. He knew it was a lost cause, but he had to be thorough. Had to check everywhere. The open bathroom window was a flashing neon sign reading, 'Sam has run the fuck away, you dumbass!' but he couldn't admit that to himself. Not yet. Not until he'd checked. Everywhere.

The vending machines and restaurant were completely Sam-less. As were the parking lot and pathetically dirty swimming pool. Almost literally at the point of tearing his hair out, he stormed into the lobby ready to kill his little brother for making him worry like this.

"… call the police! Right now!" a slightly frazzled looking travelling salesman type was demanding at the front desk.

Dean slowed right down and schooled his expression into one of mild interest coupled with an air of having no idea why anyone might need to call police to the motel. He mentally kicked himself for not checking to make sure the guns were all hidden before he'd left the room.

"Calm down, honey," the bored-sounding desk clerk intoned with almost no inflection. She rolled her eyes in Dean's direction before turning back to the guest. "Are you sure that's where you parked it?" She stifled a yawn and then smacked her gum loudly.

"Of _course_ I'm sure!" the now bug-eyed salesman type half shouted, his blood pressure visibly rising. "That's a _company_ car!"

The clerk couldn't hide her snort of derision. "Seriously?" she laughed. "Business must not be going that well if you're driving an eight-year-old Civic."

Sam missing. The bathroom window open. A crappy stolen car. "Shit," Dean whispered again. He threw the clerk a half-grin and rolled his eyes in the universal gesture for 'this guy, am I right?' and wandered casually out of the lobby down the hall to his room. Once he was sure he was out of sight, he burst into a run. "_Fuck_, Sammy!" he shouted through gritted teeth as he finally wrestled the door open.

Dad was going to kill him.

….

Sam pulled off the I-17 before it crossed the I-40 and left the car in a truck stop parking lot. It was almost out of gas, anyway, and besides he was close to the Lake Mary trailer park. He'd seen billboards advertising it for the last hour and now that the adrenaline buzz was wearing off, he figured he should find a place to crash. Trailer parks were great places to hide. During the day, he could pretend he was a kid who belonged to some family on a cross-country trip. He could hang out and play and be 'normal'… and anonymous.

He looked around the parking lot appraisingly before spotting what he'd suspected would be there: a van with a bike rack on the back. Perfect. He carefully checked to see if anyone was watching before sidling over to the van and taking his lock picks out of his inside jacket pocket. The cheap padlock on the bungee cords was quick work, and soon he was biking out of the lot on his very own "borrowed" ten-speed.

…

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Dean reached for the phone. Each number dialled felt like a nail in his coffin. How was he supposed to tell Dad that Sam… The phone clicked midway through the second ring.

"Hello?" John's gruff voice came through the phone line.

"Dad—" Dean's voice cut off suddenly. He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. "Hey, Dad. Just checking in."

"Report," John ordered, sounding a bit distracted.

Dean wrestled within himself for a moment before deciding that Sam could still just be joyriding around Phoenix and not actually in trouble… yet.

"Went to the cemetery last night and dug up the old lady," Dean began. Pastor Jim had handled the people in the house, but someone had to do the grunt work. "Salted and burned her, and Pastor Jim says we're all good."

"Good," John said matter-of-factly. It was a simple haunting. He'd expected nothing less from Dean. "How's Sammy doing?" His younger son usually got despondent in the summer months without school to concentrate on.

Dean mentally begged forgiveness from whoever might be listening. "Still asleep, the twerp."

John chuckled into the phone. "Well wake him up. It's already after 8:00. The day's half gone."

"Yessir," Dean nodded, wishing without hope that he himself was sleeping in and this was just some bad dream.

"Look, I've got to go. I'm waiting on word about a curse box."

"Alright. Bye, Dad."

"Stay safe. I'll be back in a few days."

As the dial tone rang in his ear, Dean tried to swallow the bile that crept up in his throat. He had to find Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke up on the grimy couch of a derelict living room in a seemingly abandoned trailer on the outskirts of the park. He'd spent the afternoon watching carefully as the people went about their days, and he noticed someone picking up the mail outside of this one and bringing it back to her own home. A little careful listening, and he'd learned that the owner of this particular single-wide was doing a two-month stretch in jail on a weapons-related charge. Perfect.

Opening the bag he'd packed, he selected a few of the bills he'd saved. Sure, he was only 12 years old, but he could hustle pool better than Dean. Admittedly, that was probably because no one really expects a 12-year-old to hustle pool, but still. He'd also robbed the kids blind at his last school. What kind of middle schooler didn't know how to play poker?

He walked the short distance to the Country Store near the entrance to the park and did some grocery shopping. Spaghetti-O's, Funyuns, Count Chocula, Mr. Pibb. After some thought, he also got some milk and orange juice and a couple of apples.

Adding the container of salt didn't require thought. It was just habit.

The clerk looked askance. "This really what your mom wanted you to buy, buddy?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sam tried not to flinch at the mention of his mother. "Yeah," he replied somewhat defiantly. Then he added under his breath, "Mostly." It paid to act like a guilty kid. If they thought you were guilty of getting junk food, they wouldn't think you were guilty of squatting.

The clerk chuckled and took Sam's cash, adding a candy bar to the top of the bag before giving him his change. "I won't tell if you don't," he winked.

Sam smiled back and waved goodbye. Outwardly, he looked like a kid happy to get away with something. Inwardly, the clerk was on his watch list. He'd met enough creeps in his life to be careful around friendly adults.

…..

Dean bit the skin around his thumb nail and tapped his foot quickly on the wall he was leaning against. The pit that had opened in his stomach when he'd seen that open bathroom window had yawned wider and wider as the minutes ticked by. It was already 9:30, two and a half hours since he'd woken up, and he still hadn't found Sam. He'd done all he could on his own. It was time to get help.

"Dean!" Jim called from the door of the church. He smiled at the teenager who seemed more sullen and withdrawn than usual and waved him inside. "C'mon in!"

Wiping his hand on his slightly ratty jeans, Dean ducked his head and entered the stone building. There was something about churches that always creeped him out. Probably all of those dead people in the décor.

"I'm surprised to see you so early," Jim said when it was clear that Dean wouldn't start the conversation. "I figured you'd be sleeping after all of that digging you did last night." He paused, waiting for a response from the boy and then continued when none was forthcoming. "I appreciate you filling the grave back in like you did. Looks as good as new." Another sidelong glance. Another glance away by the teen. He could hold up both ends of the conversation as long as Dean needed him to. "Where'd you find sod at that time of night?"

"Pastor Jim…" Dean started, his voice raspy. He looked up at the priest with bloodshot eyes and a strained expression.

Jim, used to seeing troubled souls such as this, did what he did for his parishioners. He wrapped his arm loosely around Dean's shoulders and guided him through the church to his office. Settling Dean in one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, he put a small kettle on to boil. He smiled kindly at Dean as the boy seemed to shrink into the upholstery of the armchair and waited patiently for the words to start. Most people began once the comforting warmth of the teacup was settled between their palms, but for some just the calm and quiet of the office was enough to make them open up. Dean was the latter.

Looking down at his shoes, Dean mumbled something that Jim couldn't understand. His shoulders slumped forward in defeat and his jaw clenched tight to clamp down on the tears threatening to spill out past his defences.

Jim patted Dean's shoulder and placed the cup of tea on the desk. "It's alright, Dean," he reassured him. It must be something pretty bad to get this kind of reaction. He thought of John, somewhere in the next state hunting down a cursed object and who knew what else. If anything had happened to him, he'd…

"I lost Sam," Dean whispered hoarsely, choking slightly on the last word. He felt Jim's hand on his shoulder squeeze as the priest swore under his breath. His teeth clenched tight once more to control the sob that was threatening to escape. He had to keep it together. Had to find Sam. Take all the hurt and roll it in a ball and stuff it down, _down_ until he couldn't feel it anymore. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He ran away."

"Ran a-!" Pastor Jim started to shout and then caught himself. "Ran away? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Sammy not being there when I woke up!" Dean barked through clenched teeth. "I'm talking about him climbing out the bathroom window and stealing a car!" Even saying it out, he couldn't believe it. Sam had always been the good kid. The kid that parents liked and teachers loved. The kid that never got in trouble. The kid that followed the rules. Well, so much for that kid because apparently Sammy had changed. And now _Dean_ was going to catch hell for it.

Dean stood up in a rush and pounded his fist on the table hard enough to make the teacup fall over, spilling hot liquid on the table and floor. "I'm talking about Sammy _leaving me_ and not saying a _goddamned word_! Not a goddamned word." His shoulders shook and his jaw clenched but this time he couldn't hold back.

The only sound in the office was the dripping of tea onto the hardwood floor and the muffled sounds of Dean's sobs as he cried into Pastor Jim's shoulder.

…..

"Wow! How'd you _do_ that?" Holly asked, staring at Sam in awe. He'd just managed to knock over six cans in a row using a homemade slingshot from 15 feet away.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged and looked down, wishing he didn't blush so easily. "Pratice, I guess?" He looked back up at her and gave her a lopsided grin.

"Teach me!" she ordered, her smile making her demand playful. Without waiting for a response, she ran over to the fence and set the cans up again.

Sam swallowed hard. He'd known lots of girls in lots of town in just about every state in the country, but this was the first one who really felt like a _girl_. He'd heard Dean talk about things that he did with girls, and it had always disgusted him. Now, though, he suddenly wished he'd paid a bit more attention. How did you talk to _girl_-girls, anyway?

"Um, sure?" he squeaked and then winced. Did she notice that his voice had just cracked? He cleared his throat and fervently hoped that it wouldn't happen again in the next sentence. "Have you, uh, shot anything before?" he asked, awkwardly passing her the slingshot.

"You mean like a gun?" Holly asked, already pulling back on the elastic and closing one eye to aim. "Nah. My dad won't let me til I'm older." She looked over her shoulder at the short young boy of about her age with the shaggy haircut and the too-big clothes. He was kind of cute. She wondered how long his family were camping at the park. "Am I doing it right?" she asked. This summer vacation might not be so bad after all.

Sam squinted at her hands for a moment. "Almost." He moved closer to her and, with a glance at her face to make sure she didn't mind, he straightened her aiming arm and lifted the elbow of her drawing arm. "You want to lock this elbow so that the rock flies straight," he explained. "If your arm is loose, your aim is loose." Bending down, he found a smooth pebble for her. "You want to keep your other elbow up so that you don't shoot low." He moved around to her other side. "Now line your thumb up with the can you want to hit." He watched her move her hand slightly. "That's right. You want to almost cover it so you can't see it." He nodded as she looked down her arm with one eye closed. "Alright, now breathe out slowly and then let go."

Holly let out a breath and shot the pebble out of the sling with surprising accuracy. She didn't knock the can over, but she did hear a ping as the pebble made contact and it wobbled slightly. Her whole face lit up with a smile and she jumped up and down in excitement. "I hit it! Did you see that? I hit it!"

Sam laughed and watched her joyful reaction. He remembered how he'd felt back when he was a kid and learning to shoot for the first time. He'd felt so cool. Just like his Dad. Just like Dean. "Nice one!" he congratulated her.

"How'd you learn how to do this, anyway?" Holly asked, already bending down to find another pebble.

Sam shrugged again. "I dunno." He squinted slightly and looked away. "I dunno."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean clenched his teeth, working his jaw muscles against the sobs still trying to rip out of his throat. The bile rose up in his throat again, but he choked it back down. He sniffed in the mucus that threatened to drip out of his nose and swiped a dirty hand across his top lip. Straightening his shoulders, he blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes with his palms until they were dry. With a shake of his head, the poker face was back, and he had control once more.

Pastor Jim knew better than to comment on what had just transpired. He'd seen this boy at his best and seen him at his worst, and the most important rule for dealing with Dean was to let him get the emotions out when they overcame him and never bring them up at other times.

"So he stole a car, did he?" Jim started in. What Dean needed right now was to focus on problem-solving. He'd never met anyone with as compulsive a need to fix things as Dean had.

Dean nodded, sniffing slightly but trying to hide it. "Yeah," his throat felt raw so he cleared it once, twice before continuing. "Yeah, a uh, Honda Civic. An '84. Taupe."

Jim chuckled slightly. "Trust Sam to steal the least flashy car in existence."

A half-smile appeared on Dean's face. If it'd been him, he'd have taken that sweet '89 Mustang, cherry red with black interior. "Kid's nothing if not boring, I'll give him that." The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But a car's a car, and that means he could be anywhere by now." The sick pit in his stomach opened up again, threatening to swallow him whole.

Jim nodded, "Too true." He moved quickly over to a filing cabinet at the side of the room and opened up a drawer to reveal road maps of the entire continental United States. Dean peered over his shoulder and saw labels for areas in Canada and Mexico, too. He looked at Pastor Jim with a whole new respect. He'd had no idea how far the preacher had travelled to perform exorcisms and rid people of ghosts and poltergeists. Jim selected maps for the surrounding states and brought them over to his desk, clearing off a large area in the middle of it. "Alright, now… how long has he been gone?"

…..

Sam frowned as he approached the trailer he now called home. A golden retriever was lying outside in front of the steps, head on its paws with an empty water dish beside it. Sam cautiously approached the dog, unsure if it would be friendly or if it would raise the alarm on him. Instead, the dog's ears perked up and its tail waved slowly once or twice. As Sam got closer, the tail wagged again and then its head came up off its paws. Sam smiled a small half-grin and crouched down near the animal, but still far enough away to run if danger presented itself. The tail was wagging enthusiastically now, the head up and alert. Sam reached out a hand toward the soft golden fur and the dog moved its head underneath it. Sam laughed to himself as he stroked the silky softness.

"What do you think, dog?" he asked, scratching it behind its ears. "Wanna be friends?"

In response, the golden retriever barked once and then began to lick Sam's hand.

"I guess so," Sam grinned widely. Scratching under the dog's chin, he looked for a collar or tags and found none. "Looks like we're both on our own." The dog stood up and padded over to lick Sam's face. "Hey! That tickles!" Sam giggled struggling not very hard to get away. The dog, encouraged, proceeded to lick all over Sam's cheek and neck and even into his ear. "Ew!" Sam attempted to wipe the sticky saliva out of his auditory canal. Looking around, he made a quick decision. "Alright dog, come with me." Opening the door to the trailer, he let the dog run in ahead of him. It leapt straight up onto the couch, tail still wagging, and looked at him intently.

Sam looked at it thoughtfully. "I can't keep calling you dog, now can I?" he mused. The dog barked, seemingly in agreement. "Well, do you have any ideas?" The dog whined at him and put its head on its paws again. "Hmm…"

"Max?"

_Whine_

"Buster?"

_Whine._

"Fido?"

_Whine._

Sam sighed heavily and sat down next to the dog on the couch. "This might take a while."

…..

"People are going to notice a twelve-year-old driving a car. They just are," Jim reassured Dean. "And Sam knows that. He's not dumb."

Dean snorted, the look on his face clearly disagreeing with the priest's words, but the glare that his reaction earned him stopped him from speaking. Instead, he just nodded and looked back at the map with sudden concentration. His eyes wanted to turn to see if Jim had stopped glaring yet, but he wouldn't let them. Instead, he cleared his throat. "So he'd only drive at night…" Dean furrowed his brow and focused more fully on the map in front of him.

"And he wouldn't be able to stop for gas. No pump jockey's going to believe a kid buying gas at 3am, no matter how much he hates his job."

"And he'll be going north or east."

Jim's brows knit in mild confusion. "How do you figure _that_?"

Dean glanced up from the map and met the older man's eyes with an indiscernible expression. "Dad's in California. Sam won't go west."

Pastor Jim hesitated for a moment, but he had to admit Dean had a point. Nodding, he moved the California maps to the side and brought the Arizona map to the middle of the desk again. "Alright, so you got home at what? 2:00?"

"Probably more like 2:30 after I did the perimeter check of the hotel."

"And you're _sure_ Sam was there when you got in?"

"Positive," Dean nodded, staring fixedly at the paper and not meeting Jim's eyes. "He was _in_ bed, _in_ his pyjamas when I got home." He'd picked up the half-read comic book from where it had fallen on Sam's chest and pulled the blanket over the foot that always seemed to poke out from under the covers. Man, if Sam had been awake for that shit, he'd never hear the end of it.

Dean swallowed hard. Sam would only tease him about it if he found him. Shit. Coughing once to hide his straying thoughts he tried to listen again to Pastor Jim.

"… much more than 300 miles in that amount of time."

"Uh, right. Sure."

Jim drew a vague circle on the map. "So that's it. That's our search zone."

Dean looked at it. That zone was just for last night's drive. It would get bigger and bigger with each passing day. Sam knew how to travel under the radar, and he knew how to do it quickly. He knew how to make enough money to get by and how to make people believe what he told them. He could disappear like a Marine in a war zone, just like Dad had taught them.

"Fuck."

…

"C'mon, girl!" Sam cheered. "C'mon, Bones!" he shook the tennis ball in his hand, earning him the dog's rapt attention. Reaching back, he threw it into the woods behind the trailer park. "Go on! Go get it!" He watched happily as the golden shape bulleted into the trees and almost as quickly bounded back out again, this time with a bright yellow object clenched tight in its teeth. "Good girl!" he praised her, rubbing her silky fur and leaning down for a wet kiss on the cheek. "You're like the best dog _ever_."

Standing up, he reached back and threw the ball again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Cool dog."

Sam looked over his shoulder at a boy maybe two years younger than himself. He was slightly scrawny and wore glasses and was squinting in the bright sunlight.

"Thanks," Sam replied. He patted his thigh and Bones trotted over for a scratch on the head.

"I'm Cody," the other boy held out a hand.

Sam was taken slightly aback by the formality of the gesture, but then shrugged and shook it. "Sam," he offered in turn. The boys shuffled their feet awkwardly, neither one comfortable with making new friendships. After an agonizing 15 seconds, Sam brightened with an idea. "Wanna throw the ball for her?"

The other boy's face lit up in response. "_Can_ I? For real?"

Sam nodded and toss the ball the short distance between them. Cody fumbled it slightly, but Sam pretended not to notice. "Her name's Bones, and she's totally awesome. Really smart and stuff."

Cody threw the ball into the trees as he'd seen Sam doing and watched as Bones retrieved it in seconds. "Cooool," he half-whispered, looking from Sam to the dog with something approaching awe. He threw the ball again, this time a bit farther and watched happily as Bones ran and brought it back. "C'I pet her?"

"Sure," Sam granted. He couldn't remember ever having something that someone else envied before. It felt good.

"You ever take her to the quarry?" Cody asked, throwing the ball again.

"Quarry?"

"Oh right, you're not from around here." Cody pointed to the other side of the trailer park. "It's about a mile that way. Sometimes they close off the road when they're doing blasting, but most of the time it's just this, like, huge place that's great for riding bikes and throwing stuff."

"Whoa, that sounds _awesome!_" Sam ran around to the side of the trailer and brought out his stolen ten-speed. "Let's go!"

Cody grinned and grabbed his own bike from where he'd lain it on the ground. "Awesome."

…..

"No way," Dean swept his hands apart in a gesture of finality.

"This isn't a choice, Dean," Pastor Jim replied just as firmly. "We _have_ to call your Dad and tell him what's going on."

"No we _don't_," Dean insisted, chin jutting out in stubbornness. "You and me," he pointed back and forth between the two of them. "We can track him down," he gestured at the maps littering the table and now also the floor. "Drag him back here and make him _swear_ he won't do something this stupid again." The steel in his voice reminded Jim of John.

"He's your _father_, Dean," Jim said, attempting to placate the angry teen in front of him. "He _needs_ to know."

Dean scoffed and looked away. "Right," his hands moved up to his hips and his brow furrowed. "Because he _cares_, right?" He looked back at Jim and pierced him with a glare. "Like he _cared_ when he left us alone in creepy-ass motel rooms when we were just _kids_?" He moved closer to the older man, his voice rising. "Like he _cared_ when Sam was afraid of the dark and instead of telling him there weren't any monsters, he _gave him a gun_?" He was right in the priest's face now. "Like he _cared_ when our mother got _burned on the_ _ceiling_ **right in front of me** and he never let me cry?" You're a big boy, Dean. Big boys don't cry themselves to sleep. Daddy's little soldier, soldiering on. Sammy needs you to be strong for him. Gotta take care of Sammy.

"Yes," Jim whispered back.

"Yes?" Dean shouted, incredulously. "_Yes?_" He threw his hands up in disbelief and strode away in disgust. "**Yes?**" He punched the wall because he couldn't hit Pastor Jim, no matter how angry he might have been. It felt good, so he hit it again.

And again.

And again.

"Yes," Jim whispered again, catching his arm before his fist could connect with the stonework once more. The knuckles were already cracked and bleeding. "He gave Sam a gun the same reason he gave you one: he knows what's out there and he needs to know that you boys can stay safe even when he's not around." Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he started dabbing gently at the wounds. "He left you in those motel rooms because, believe me, it was safer than taking you with him." He looked Dean in the eye, trying to discern if his words were having any effect at all. The jaw was still clenched, but the eyes were wavering a bit.

"But…" Dean started, but Jim interrupted him.

"He used to have whatever hunter or psychic he knew in the area check in on you boys, you know?" Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "He never told us what room you were in because, well, you know John… but he had us keep an eye on the motels." He paused and lifted the hand closer to his eye for better inspection. "This is going to need some alcohol." He reached into a nearby cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Take a pull of this."

"Seriously?" Dean asked. It wouldn't be his first time drinking whiskey, but Jim had never offered him anything other than milk or juice before. Even the tea from earlier had been a mild surprise.

Jim nodded. "This stuff stings like a son of a bitch." Reaching back in, he opened up a first aid kit and got some antiseptic. "And maybe he didn't want you to cry, but he didn't let _himself_ cry in front of you, either, did he?"

Dean sucked in air at the sting of the alcohol, both that in his throat and that on his hand. "Son of a bitch!" he said forcefully.

"Told ya," Jim chuckled slightly. "He knew you needed him to be strong, but he needed you to be strong, too." He wrapped the torn hand in a length of gauze. "You boys are the only reason your father is still alive." Jim looked Dean dead in the eye. "Without you two there, he'd have killed himself a long time ago."

Dean stared at the priest, trying to decide if he could believe what he'd just been told. His Dad? Anything but a hard-hearted badass with a hate-on for demons? It was hard to picture, to put it mildly. "Can we just…" he sighed heavily. "Can we just not call him? For now?" After a slight hesitation, he looked down and mumbled, "Please?"

Jim looked at him not unsympathetically. "I'm sorry, Dean," he put a reassuring hand on the teen's shoulder, and his mouth turned down in a facial shrug. "I should have called him as soon as you told me."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stared hard at the phone in his hand. He wasn't due to call his Dad til 7:30 that night. He knew the protocol, though. Call the motel and leave a message for whatever name his Dad was using at the time. Use an AC/DC lyric for "All Clear, Don't Come"; Bad Company for updating him on their research on whatever monster he was tracking; Kansas if Sam (or Dean, but Dean would never admit it) was having nightmares; Journey if the boys wanted to know how much longer he was going to be on the road; and the Scorpions if one of them was sick.

He sighed and pulled his hand down his face, snapping his jaw shut and then swearing under his breath. Dialling the phone, he waited for the desk clerk to pick up. "Yeah, can I leave a message for James McKeown?" He looked up and caught Pastor Jim's eye. The older man had offered to be the middle man on this, but Dean had refused. It was his fuck up, so it was his responsibility. "Yeah, this is going to sound weird but just write it down the way I say it, okay?" The bored-sounding clerk on the other end agreed sullenly. "A modern-day warrior, mean mean stride," Dean recited slowly, allowing he person on the other end of the line to write down each word. "Today's Tom Sawyer, mean mean pride." There was a pause in the scratching on the other end. "Yeah, it is. Just write it down and make sure he gets it, okay?" Dean explained, the annoyance clear in his voice. "Thanks."

Rush. For "drop everything and come home _now_."

….

Sam looked down in wonder from the top of the quarry. There must have been a dozen or more kids running around down there. More kids than he'd ever seen outside of school. And they were all just running around laughing and screaming and having fun. He couldn't help but stare.

"You coming, or what?" Cody laughed and then rode his bike down the slippery, pebble-strewn walls of the quarry, nearly wiping out a half dozen times before he reached the bottom. He looked back up at Sam and waved him to come down. "C'mon, Sam! Hurry up!"

Sam threw the tennis ball and Bones bounded after it down into the pit. With a huge smile on his face, he careened down on his bike and narrowly escaped falling flat on his face at the bottom. His heart was beating faster and he couldn't stop smiling. "Best day _ever_!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Cody laughed in surprise, but repeated it, "Best day ever!" Meeting Sam's eyes, he pointed to the far end of the quarry and stood up on his bike's pedals. "Race you?"

Sam grinned back and stood up on his own pedals. "You're on!"

Leaving a cloud of dust in their wake, they whooped and hollered their way across the quarry floor, Bones bounding after them with the tennis ball in her mouth.

….

Pastor Jim drove Dean back to the cheap motel where they boys had been staying. They stopped on the way and picked up a bucket of Sandy's Chicken, but Dean hadn't so much as snuck a fry. Jim had attempted conversation a few times, but finally had to give up and just let him stew.

"You know my number," he called after the teen as Dean shut the car door. "I'll answer it."

Dean nodded, but didn't look back. Setting his shoulders, he walked back into the hotel. The other clerk was on the desk now, the cute co-ed he'd flirted with during their first few days there. He flashed her a grin and asked if there were any messages, hoping there weren't any.

"Just one," she smiled at him, biting her lower lip and handing him a folded piece of paper.

_I get off at 7:00._

His eyebrows rose slightly and the grin broadened on his face. "Interesting message," he winked at her.

"Really?" she asked, a little breathily.

"Uh huh," he leaned on the counter. "They leave a number?" He looked into her eyes and watched the blush creep over her cheeks.

Grabbing a pen, she scrawled hers across the bottom of the page. "Are you going to call back?"

Dean licked his lips and looked her up and down a bit. "Definitely."

Turning away, he swaggered down the hall to his room. He hadn't really planned on taking their flirtation any further than a chat at the desk every once in a while. Still, his Dad would be back soon, and he needed something to keep his mind off of that fact. She was sure as hell better than TV.

…

Sam collapsed on the derelict sofa in happy exhaustion. Looking up at the stained ceiling, he replayed the day again and again in his mind. Riding bikes, playing catch, scoring a goal in a pick-up soccer game. He was pretty sure that Holly had seen it, too. Kick the can and throwing the ball for Bones and swimming in the quarry lake. And now he had to clean up because Cody's mom was making hot dogs for all the kids.

His hand reached out and stroked Bones' soft fur and he smiled. Happy. So this was what it felt like to be a normal kid.

…..

Dean threw himself down on his bed. He tried not to look over at Sammy's, still mussed from where his kid brother had been sleeping, or pretending to be asleep, the night before. Instead he turned on the TV and opened the beer he'd snaked from the back of a truck in the parking lot. He flipped channels without really seeing them. All he could see were images of his brother.

Sammy in his arms the night their mother died.

Sammy crying when he fell down while trying to walk.

Sammy trying to climb up onto any higher surface and nearly giving Dad a heart attack.

Sammy laughing on a swingset in a park near Bobby's house.

Sammy looking worried on the first day of school and holding his hand really tight.

Sammy playing army guys with him in a blanket fort in some unnamed motel.

Sammy's face lighting up on Christmas morning after Santa came.

Sammy asking him why they moved around so much.

Sammy grinning when he beat Dean at rock-paper-scissors.

Sammy coming home with straight A's on his report card and looking so proud.

Sammy curled up in the back seat of the Impala reading.

Sammy sleeping with his foot poking out of the covers.

Dean reached for the phone to call Pastor Jim. His hand hesitated over it and instead moved once more to the case of beer. Twisting off the top, he took another large swallow.

….

"So, Sam," Sarah Mitchell asked as she gave him his second hot dog. "Where are you from?"

Sam took a large bite to give himself time to think. The easiest way to lie was to tell the truth but leave bits out. Swallowing, he replied, "Kansas."

"Really?" she looked at the boy in front of her and wondered where his parents were. Most of the other kids' folks had stopped by to check in before allowing their kids to stay for dinner. "Your family on a road trip?

"Mmhmm," he nodded through another large bite. "Kind of," he took a swig of cola and tried his best not to burp. "My Dad travels for business, and we come along."

"And your Mom?" she asked while dishing out more potato salad for her son.

Sam looked across the table at Cody and mentally said goodbye to his new friend. Most kids started teasing him when they found out. "She's dead," he said matter-of-factly. The faster he got it out, the less it hurt. "Can I have some more salad too, please?"

Cody looked at him in surprise. It wasn't the usual 'you're a freak' look, though. It was almost… understanding.

"So's my Dad," he replied. The two boys exchanged a look of shared pain.

Sarah's heart broke a little bit again to hear her son talk about it. Still, at least she was able to be here for him while Sam's Dad apparently wasn't. She mussed both boys' hair and kissed the top of Cody's head, much to his chagrin, before wandering over to check on the other kids.

"Moms," Cody shrugged, trying to be cool.

Sam nodded and looked down a bit glumly. Finally, he looked back up and caught the other boy's eye. "They're pretty great, aren't they?"

At least, that's what he'd heard.


	6. Chapter 6

John loaded the curse box into the back of the Impala. He'd be so glad to get this rabbit's foot off his hands. The thing made him nervous, even locked up behind a half-dozen protective spells. Still, if he ever did find that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, a little extra luck on his side would come in handy. Even if it _did_ kill him in the end.

He pulled up and parked outside his crummy hotel room and went about the task of clearing the news clippings from the walls. The relevant ones would go in his journal along with his notes, and the rest would go in a dumpster behind some restaurant or bar downtown. Bending down, he picked up a stray paper from where it had fallen near the door. He glanced at it to see if it was worth keeping and then suddenly let all of the papers fall out of his hands.

Rush.

Moving quickly, he stuffed his guns into his duffel along with any laundry that was within immediate sight. With his bag in one hand and his journal in the other, he burst out of his hotel room and jumped into his car. The squeal of his tires cut through the noise of late-afternoon traffic, and then he was on the road.

"I'm coming boys," he kept repeating under his breath as his hands gripped the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Just hold on. I'm coming."

…

Dean smirked as he held the room's door open for his guest to leave. "Thanks for the uh…" he licked his lips and looked at her slowly from head to toe and back up again. "Towels," he finished. His eyebrows waggled up and down a bit as he leered.

The desk clerk blushed and smacked him lightly on the chest. "Yeah, right," she chuckled as she finished doing up the last button on her blouse. She looked him up and down just as boldly before leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on his lips. "Let me know if you…" she licked her own lips and waggled her brows as she squeezed his ass through his jeans. "Need any more," she finished. She walked out the door and then glanced back over her shoulder to make sure he was still looking.

Dean let out a sigh of appreciation as he watched her ass sway as she walked back to the lobby. "Damn," he whispered under his breath. Shaking his head, he returned to his room and got out the map he'd bought at the gas station down the street. Cindy had been a pleasant enough attempt at distraction, but she hadn't managed to take his mind off of Sam. Or his Dad.

He spread the map out again on the rickety table in the corner of the room. He'd already marked off the same approximate circle that Pastor Jim had marked on his map. Now, he just had to think like Sammy would and figure out where he went.

…

Sam curled up on the sofa with Bones beside him and a beer next to him. It tasted kind of like dirty gym socks smelled, but he was drinking it anyway. He flipped through the channels until he landed on _Boy Meets World_. He could never watch it when Dean was around because his older brother teased him about how corny and unbelievable it was, but Sam loved it.

"You see him, Bones?" he pointed to the screen. "That's Cory." He scratched the dog's tummy, much to her delight, as he filled her in on the show. "He's the main character. He's got an older brother and a younger sister and a best friend and a girl he likes, but kinda doesn't like, but kinda likes?" He watched for a bit, munching on Funyuns and nursing the still-disgusting beer. "That's Mr. Feeney," he pointed to the screen again. "He's his neighbour and his teacher and he always gives him really good advice." Sam munched some more. "And that's his mom and dad." He got quiet and his hand slowed down its petting of Bones' stomach.

Taking a long pull of beer, Sam made a face. How did Dad and Dean drink this stuff, anyway? I mean, it made him feel kind of warm and fuzzy, but still. He guessed you had to get used to it.

He resumed petting Bones and describing the show. "Every week, Cory has some big problem with his friends or family or school or something? And every week, they figure out how to solve it. And then everyone's happy. And nobody gets hurt." Leaning down, he kissed the dog's soft head and sighed into her fur.

….

Alright, so he was looking at the I-17 North or the I-10 South and then East. He might have taken the I-19, but there was no way that a 12-year-old in a stolen car would be able to make it into Mexico. Not even Sam. Not even with everything Dad had taught him.

Dean stared at the map and tapped his pen against the hotel note pad. He knew Sam would take the interstate, at least at first, to put as much distance behind him as he could in that first night. After that, he'd probably switch to back roads and smaller highways to avoid the chances of being spotted. He was pretty confident with his guess that Sam wouldn't go west to California where his Dad had been hunting down a cursed object, but that still left an awful lot of map to look at. He started jotting down a few notes.

They were staying at the Motel 6 on North Bell Road, so the odds were really good that Sammy had taken the I-17. It was the more obvious route, but Sam would have weighed that against having to drive through downtown to get to the I-10.

Dean's finger travelled north along the interstate. There wasn't much there until you hit Flagstaff. That was probably where Sammy had ditched the car and picked up a new one. It always paid to switch cars in a city instead of just leaving it by the side of the road. Made the cops think it was just someone out for a joyride, especially if you didn't take anything out of it. The owner would be happy to get it back in one piece, and the cops would stop investigating, if they had even ever begun. If Sam had been paying attention the past few years, he'd know enough to leave it in some parking lot where it would be noticed and called in. Plus, parking lots had the added advantage of having lots of other cars in them to steal.

Circling Flagstaff on the map, Dean started listing places that Sam might go after that. North through Utah or Nevada? Maybe see the Grand Canyon? Maybe up through Colorado and Nebraska to Mount Rushmore? Hell, knowing Sammy, he'd go east to the Mississippi so that he could go river rafting like Huckleberry Finn or something.

Dean sighed and threw down his pen, giving up. He couldn't solve it on his own and Pastor Jim had already done just about everything he could. Dad would be home soon, and he wouldn't be able to tell him anything more than Sammy was gone.

He'd run out on Dean's watch.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sighed and snorted into the maps on the table. He'd fallen asleep on them about an hour previously, his eyes getting heavier and vision blurring as he wiped at them to stay awake. A half a cup of cold coffee lay out of arm's reach and his tousled head lay half on the colourful pages and half on the arborite surface.

Suddenly, the motel room's door was forcefully opened, dragging him out of his slumber and into a much harsher reality. He had a gun in his hand and pointed at the shape in the doorway before his eyes had cleared enough to distinguish what it was.

"Dad?" he blinked. He lowered the gun, but only slightly.

"_Dean!_" John breathed out like he'd been holding his breath for hours. He entered the room and moving to embrace his elder son. "Thank _God_ you're alright!" He pulled the young man into a suffocating hug, his eyes closed in mute relief.

Dean dropped the gun onto the table and returned the hug, clutching at his father's comfortingly solid form. His own eyes closed in a silent appeal for forgiveness… or protection.

"Where's Sam?" John looked around the small room. When he didn't immediately see his younger son, he burst into the bathroom and found that empty as well. Returning to the room, he took in Dean's slumped shoulders and miserable expression. His face turned from relief to consternation. "Dean, _where's Sammy?_" he growled, stalking up to his elder child, his face now shifting towards anger.

Dean looked down at the floor, one foot shifting uncomfortably. His right hand moved up and rubbed the back of his neck. Biting his lower lip, he unconsciously flicked his eyes to the maps that lay open on the table.

John's eyes shifted in the same direction and took in the maps and the notepad. "**Dean!**" he barked. "**Answer me!**"

Flinching slightly but trying desperately not to, Dean opened his mouth to speak. His throat was too dry, however so no sound came out. He looked at his father in mute agony as his mouth moved open and shut. He should have let Pastor Jim tell him. Should have left a note and run off after Sam. Should have paid more attention last night and not let Sammy run away to begin with.

By now John was furious. He pushed past Dean, almost knocking him over, and scooped up the papers on the table. "Did you try working a _case_, Dean? Is that what this is?" He let out a condescending laugh. "_I swear_, if Sammy got hurt because of you…" Impaling Dean with a glare, he crumpled the pages into a ball and threw them into a trashcan. Digging through his pockets he produced a lighter.

"No!" Dean croaked, reaching out a hand as if to stop his father's actions.

"No?" John asked. "_No?_" He once more moved in close to Dean, standing over him and glaring down. "_That's_ what you want to say to me right now?" He shook his head, disgust written all over his face. "I can't even _look_ at you right now, Dean."

Dean clenched his teeth tight together and willed his eyes to stop tearing up. His chest felt so tight it was hard to breathe while also somehow feeling like there was a hole in it the size of the Grand Canyon. His stomach had dropped down into the shoes he was staring at. Finally, he whispered, "Sammy's not hurt."

John stopped the pacing he'd been doing around the room and whipped around. "What was that?" he barked. "Speak up!" He shook his head once more at the state of the teen. "I can't hear you when you're talking to your shoes, boy." Moving over, he prodded his son. "Shoulders back, back straight, look straight ahead." He tsked again. "Hopeless," he muttered. Giving up, he merely demanded, "Report."

Dean stood at attention and stared at a crack in the wall on the other side of the room. "Sam's not hurt, sir," he started matter-of-factly. "Well, at least, I don't know that he is," his brow creased briefly and he started to slump but one look out of the corner of his eye kept him at attention. "He's gone, sir!"

"_Gone_?" John asked, his voice full of incredulity. "What do you mean, _gone_?"

"Ran away."

"_Ran away?_"

"Yes, sir."

"How did he manage _that_? He was fine this morning!"

Dean swallowed and glanced down for a moment before looking back at the crack on the wall.

"_Dean_!"

Dean swallowed again and tried not to fidget. "He was uh—"

"Don't stutter, boy!"

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "He was gone when I got up this morning, sir."

"When you got up this morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then _why_ did you tell me he was _sleeping_ **when I asked about him?**" John was leaning right into Dean's ear now, giving him the full drill sergeant.

Dean's eyes closed reflexively, but he was otherwise able to keep himself from flinching. "I um.."

"Stuttering!"

Deep breath, "I told you that because I thought he was just messing with me."

"You thought he was just _messing with you_?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how long did you think _that_ for?"

"An hour or two?"

"Was it _one_ hour or _two_?"

"Two!"

"Two hours." John dragged a hand down his face and looked at Dean with revulsion. "_After_ you woke up."

Dean nodded.

"I can't hear the rocks in your head rattle, boy! Answer me when I ask you a question!"

"Two hours after I woke up."

"When is the last time you _actually saw_ him?"

"Around 2:30 this morning."

"Around 2:30," John repeated in a mocking tone. "Helpful." Bending down, he reached into the garbage can and fished out the maps and the notes. "And this is you trying to figure out where he went?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, don't." John tossed the papers back into the trash and took out his lighter. The look of complete disappointment and abhorrence on his face made Dean's stomach swirl with the need to vomit. Staring right at his son's horrified face, John flicked the lighter on and dropped it into the metal trash can. The pages instantly caught.

Dean stood unmoving, his body still at attention and his eyes not wavering from his father's.

"You had one job, Dean," John said quietly. The calm he projected was eerie unless you knew about the rage underneath it. "You had _one_ job." Walking slowly, he moved to the kitchenette. "The shit I deal with every damned day, I just need you to do _one thing_." He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a glass. "Watch out for Sammy." Filling it with water, he returned to the fire and poured it over the flames.

Dean nodded, once more clenching his teeth to stop his tears.

"You _promised_ me you'd look after your little brother, boy!"

John came at him in a rush, but Dean just stood there. The first punch was always the worst. He'd been waiting for it ever since his Dad had burst in the room. Ever since he'd realized Sammy was gone. It was almost a relief to have it wash over him, exploding against his cheek and making his eye feel like fire.

"How could you _let him out of your sight_?"

The second and third blows went to Dean's ribs. He hadn't yet made a move to protect himself. This was nothing less than he deserved.

"I _trusted_ you with him, and _this_ is what happens?"

They were coming faster and harder now and without consciously deciding to, Dean had covered his head with one arm and wrapped the other protectively around his ribs.

"You had to _protect him_," John raged. "You had to _keep him safe_!" He was breathing hard now. "If you can't even do that…"

One more punch, this time to the small of Dean's back, sent him down to the floor.

"What are you good for?" John turned away in disgust and walked over to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned and looked back at the boy lying beaten and crying on the floor. "You had one job. And you screwed it up."

Dean whispered into the dirty carpet, "One job. Sammy."


	8. Chapter 8

John stormed his way out of the hotel and into the parking lot. Wrenching open the door of the Impala, he slid into the front seat and then slammed the door behind him. His chest moved rapidly up and down with his heavy breathing as his hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

"Sammy," he whispered, voice cracking. His hands loosened their grip as his head came forward and slumped against the curve of the steering wheel. Shoulders shaking, he gave in and allowed himself to cry. "I'm so sorry, Mary," he sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."

The ache in his gut was threatening to take over. It felt like a knife being twisted in his insides. Like a fist gripped tight around his heart. As the anger fell away and was replaced by grief, the realization of what he'd just done started to sink in. "Dean," he said, his voice hoarse from crying. "Oh God, _Dean_."

…

Sam poured himself a bowl of sugar cereal and settled back down on the couch with Bones. It was well after midnight, and he didn't have anyone telling him to get in bed. He hadn't even salted the windows and doors. This was awesome!

An owl hooted outside, startling him.

Bones looked at him and he looked back at her.

Shrugging self-consciously, he got up and grabbed the salt he'd bought that morning. "Better safe than sorry, I guess? Right?" he asked of no one in particular.

Bones barked her agreement.

…...

Dean groaned and slowly got to his feet. He rubbed his ribs gingerly and stumbled a bit on his way to the bathroom. Leaning over and looking into the mirror, he peered at his left eye. Yeah, that was going to be a shiner, alright. With a sigh, he wetted a facecloth with cold water and placed it on his cheek. At least if he kept the swelling down, he'd still be able to see out of it.

Standing up straight, he lifted up his t-shirt to see if his ribs were bruising, too. They didn't look too bad, so he figured he'd leave them be. Returning to the living room, he stopped short when he saw his father there.

John looked at his son, apology plain in his face. He nodded at the younger man and Dean nodded back. Apology accepted. John reached into the fridge and pulled out a soda, tossing it to Dean who threw the facecloth on the table and then applied the can to his face.

"You alright?" John asked, trying not to stare at the bruise that was forming on Dean's face.

"I'll live," Dean answered, shrugging. He sat on the corner of his bed and looked up at his father. He smiled wryly, "You've done worse when you're training me."

John nodded. "Still…" he started, then stopped. He had promised himself he wouldn't be that man… wouldn't be like his stepfather. He swallowed hard and tried to forget. Clearing his throat, he changed topics. "I'm going to go see Pastor Jim. Are you going to be…?" he looked away and rubbed his hand across his jaw. "Do you need a doctor or anything?"

"Dad," Dean replied reassuringly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." His eyes teared up again as he remembered who it was his father _should_ be worrying about. "Go get Sammy."

John nodded and reached out to pat Dean's shoulder. When he saw his son involuntarily flinch away, he closed his eyes and allowed his hand to drop. "Right."

This time when he left, Dean didn't cry. He turned to his duffel, and he started to pack.

…...

Sam yawned as he lay in his bed staring up at the nighttime ceiling. He hoped Dean wasn't too pissed at him. Maybe he should have left a note? Nah. Dean would understand. He'd just needed to get away from Dad and the life.

He rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around Bones. "I don't want to be a hunter," he whispered into her fur. "I don't want to fight monsters and kill them." He'd never said it out loud before, but it was true. While he understood that what his father did saved people, that didn't have to mean that he wanted to do it too.

"You know, I got straight A's this year?" he asked his dog. "Except I got a B in gym." He sighed, "Dad said _that _was the course I should have spent more time on." He laughed wryly, "At least he thought the A in Latin was okay."

Sam breathed in deeply and sighed again. "I just want to be able to stay in the same school for more than a month, y'know?" He rolled onto his back again and once more stared at the ceiling. "I just want to have a friend." He thought about Cody and Holly and all of the other kids he'd played with.

"This is my chance, Bones." He smiled widely, "This is it."

…

John pulled up outside of Jim's church. He'd called the Pastor from the hotel lobby and asked to meet there instead of the other man's home. He had something to talk about. Gritting his teeth and setting his shoulders, he opened the door of the church and walked slowly inside and down the aisle. Pulling aside a curtain, he knelt on the floor.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** _apologies for the delay in this fic. Between work and illness, I haven't had the time to get this done and posted. I hope to get another chapter or two up in the next couple of days, but my parents will be visiting for a week so there will probably be another delay starting Wednesday. Don't worry, though. I plan on writing the whole two weeks that Sam was gone, as well as what happened when he reunited with his father and Dean._

….

"You've got to tell him, John" Pastor Jim urged his friend as he held out a cup of coffee.

John pushed the coffee away and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cabinet. "Tell him what?" he asked, letting out a frustrated laugh. "That I didn't _mean_ to hit him?" Shaking his head, he took a long pull. "Thing is, Jim, I _did_ mean it. At that moment, when I heard about Sammy, I _meant_ it." He shook his head again and lowered his arm, the bottle still held loosely in his hand. "I beat him, Jim," he whispered. "I laid my hand on my son in anger, and I _beat_ him like that son of a bitch beat _me_." His grip tightened once more and he raised the bottle for another long swallow. "I _swore_ I would never be like that man…" his voice trailed off as he turned away from the preacher and bowed his head.

Jim reached out a comforting hand to his friend's quaking shoulder. "Tell him you still love him," he said. "_That's_ what he needs to hear." He squeezed reassuringly.

John scoffed and shrugged the hand off. "Sammy's missing… God knows where. Now's not the time for chick flick moments." Putting the bottle down, he stood up and straightened his back. "Dean's a good boy. He knows I love him." Nodding to himself, he turned away from the preacher and started studying the maps on the table.

"Right," Jim said softly behind him. So softly the other man didn't hear.

…

Bones barked lightly as she woke up. She sniffed the air and then growled at the back of her throat. The hairs rose up on the back of her neck, and in a heartbeat she was on her feet at the edge of the bed. She bared her teeth and the growl came louder now. Her eyes showed white around the edges and her ears lay flat. She barked out once, sharply.

Sam opened his eyes blurrily and wiped a hand across them. "Bones?" he asked in a raspy voice that was full of sleep.

Bones growled deep and barked once again. Her whole body was a coiled spring poised to strike. Her head moved, tracing the path of something only she could see.

"C'mon, girl," Sam yawned, stroking her back and trying to pull her back to lie against him. "I'm trying to sleep here."

Bones barked again, louder than before, and then suddenly she relaxed. Her growl turned into a whine as her tail wagged slightly. Turning around, she licked Sam's face and then lay down beside him again. She kept one ear cocked and one eye open as she listened to the boy's breathing slow down again in slumber. Only when she was sure they were alone did she fall back asleep, as well.

…

Dean dropped the last duffel on the carpet by the door and then collapsed, fully-dressed, in bed. He hated sleeping in his clothes, but he knew that his dad would want them to get an early start the next day, and this would allow him an extra 20 minutes of shut eye. After less than 5 hours of sleep the night before and one of the worst days he could remember (and that was saying something), he could use all the rest he could get.

Punching his pillow a few times to fluff it up, he slid his knife underneath it and flipped off the light. The darkness was punctuated by the light of the neon hotel sign glaring through the cheap curtains. Outside in the night he could hear faint sirens and the clinking and crashing of someone dumpster diving behind the restaurant.

Rolling onto his back, Dean stared at the ceiling which glowed red in the neon light. He wondered where Sammy was right now. Was he awake, too? Looking over, Dean saw the alarm clock's numbers flashing 1:37AM. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and punched the pillow again. He pulled the cheap, polyester bedspread over himself and hoped Sammy was keeping warm. Sure, they were in Arizona, but the nights were a helluva lot colder than the days. What if Sammy was sleeping in a car somewhere? Or outside? Judging by what had been left when Dean was packing up, Sam hadn't taken much with him. Dean rolled onto his other side, back to the window, trying to block out the noise and the light and get some sleep. Sammy was a smart kid. He'd find a place to stay, and he'd be alright. He would. Dean rolled onto his stomach again and buried his face in his pillow to relieve the pricking in his eyes. He took deep, steadying breaths and allowed the heat of the pillow to envelop his face.

Sammy was going to be okay. He had to be.

…..

"John?" Pastor Jim asked a couple of hours later.

"What?" John answered distractedly.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Jim set about collecting the maps and organizing them.

John's hand came down on them quickly. "I'll sleep when Sam's home safe."

Jim tugged and the pages slid out from under the other man's palm. "You'll sleep _now_, or I'll kick your miserable ass," he growled.

John glared up at his friend standing over him. The heated look lasted for almost five seconds before he sighed and chuckled, shaking his head. "Man of the cloth shouldn't use that kinda language," he said with a wry smile.

"Yeah, well," Jim answered slapping his friend on the back and putting the maps down in a neat pile on the edge of the table. "I'm sure God'll understand. After all, he's the one who _made_ you such a miserable ass in the first place."

John chuckled humourlessly again. "You got that right," he agreed.

"Now go on up to bed," Jim nodded towards his apartment next to the church.

"I should get back to Dean."

"You mean you should have brought him here with you," Jim corrected. "And you won't do that boy any favours if you drive yourself off the road and into a tree."

"I'm not going to –" John started, then stumbled on the stairs.

"I rest my case."

"Shut up."

"You shouldn't talk like that to a man of the cloth."

"A man of the cloth shouldn't be as big a pain in the ass as you are," John growled as he grabbed the handrail to steady his way upstairs.

"All I can be is what God made me," Jim grinned beatifically. He kept the grin in place until John had made it upstairs, and then he collapsed in a chair. "God give me strength," he prayed. He hoped that someone was listening.


End file.
